The Life in Your Hands
by mercurymoon7490195
Summary: It was all a question of how far they could push themselves. Thiefshipping, postcanon, Vagabonds series


Even with his eyes covered, Bakura knew where Marik was. Behind the blindfold he could track his movement by the candle in his hand, the flame wavering back and forth as he paced.

"You brought this on yourself, you know," he murmured coldly. "You said you knew where you were going…you said it would be faster this way." The candle disappeared from his sight, Marik's weight settling on the bed next to him. "You nearly drowned us both." The candle tipped, the molten wax splattering across his back. Bakura bit back a gasp of pain, his hands grabbing at the their wet shirts wrapped around his wrists. Marik had tied them to the bedpost, his face expressionless before the blindfold went on.

_"You sure you could handle it?"_

_"Of course," Marik had replied. "Mixing it up once in awhile won't hurt."_

Nails grazed his skin, fingers skating between the already hardened droplets of wax. "If you had just listened to me in the first place, we wouldn't be stuck in this dump of a motel, soaked to the bone, and you wouldn't be in this situation!" Another splash of wax hit his back with each hissed word, clinging to his skin. He moaned against the bandana, knotted and stuffed in his mouth. His hips bucked upwards suggestively, egging Marik on.

_"You know the conditions?"_

_"Unless you've changed them since the last time I tied you up, yes."_

Marik disappeared. He blew out the candle, followed by the sounds of a zipper and a hand rustling in a bag. Seconds later he returned, his slick cock hard against the back of his leg. "You brought this upon your self," he murmured, his words ice as he slammed into him. Bakura choked back a cry, his hands clenched into fists as Marik's thrusts quickened. His nails dug into the pale skin of his back, leaving angry red welts among the wax splatters.

"Do you want me to stop?" he growled, his teeth sinking into the tender skin of his ear. "You want me to get you off too?"

Bakura stayed absolutely still, silent save for the involuntary grunts as Marik rammed into him over and over again. His nails drew crescents of blood as he grasped at his back, his hips jutting into Bakura's backside. Faster and faster until he was spent, gripping at his shoulder blades as he came.

Bakura raised an eyebrow as Marik quivered behind him, his nose dipping against his spine. His hands shook against his skin, the rest of his body unmoving.

He mumbled his partner's name through the gag, bucking his hips up to jerk him out of his reverie. Marik jumped, a hand jutting out and grabbing him by his hair. "What makes you think you deserve a reward," he hissed. He grabbed the knife from his belt and slid it under the gag, slicing it away with a deft stroke. "You deserve nothing after what you did."

"That's not what we agreed on," Bakura snapped, craning his head. Marik's gaze was strange, the knife still clutched in his hand. He traced Bakura's spine with the tip, sneering down at him.

"We should cut that off, before it gets any harder," he said, his lip curling as he set the blade against the wax, deftly scraping it off with a quick stroke. Bakura froze, tensing as Marik moved to the next red globule standing out against his skin. The knife was so close that every hair stood on edge, every warning bell was going off in Bakura's head. Still he did not move, his eyes staring back to watch Marik work. Lavender eyes staring unblinkingly at the pale flesh as he brushed the knife across it, its surface relatively unmarred compared to his own.

"Marik," he said coolly, as the last drop of wax was scraped away, his skin singing from the closeness of the blade. "We're done. Now."

Marik said nothing, the blade still cold against Bakura's skin. He shuddered, the tip of the knife light as it traced the short strokes of a familiar pattern.

"Marik!" Bakura twisted in his makeshift binds, trying to work a hand out as the pressure on the blade increased. It sliced through his shoulder, Bakura flinching away with a grunt. "MARIK, Look at what you're doing! I know you can hear me!"

Blood dripped down his back as Marik made another slice, his hands quivering. Bakura pulled away once more, kicking out from under him. "Marik, STOP!"

His foot connected with Marik's stomach. The youth teetered and tumbled off the bed, the knife flying out of his hand and hitting the wall with a dull clunk. Bakura's hand slipped free, untying the other and fleeing to Marik's side. "Are you—"

Marik looked up, his eyes wide and horrified. "What happened?" He murmured, rubbing his head. As his hand dropped, he caught sight of the blood on the tips of his fingers.

"No…" He grabbed Bakura and pushed him to the floor, gasping at the L-shaped cut in the middle of his back. "No, no, no—" He backed away, hands tearing at his hair. "I'm—"

"Marik, look at me." Bakura crawled over to him and took his face in his hands, meeting his eyes. "I'm okay."

"I could have—" He choked back a sob, tears spilling down his cheeks. "I almost—"

"You didn't." He coaxed him into his arms, pressing his lips to the top of his head. Murmuring soft, soothing syllables into Marik's ears, he held him close; a hand stroking his hair as Marik buried his face in his sweat slicked chest.

"Why do you keep suggesting things like this?" Marik demanded finally, staring into the white abyss of the sheets. "Why would you even ask when you know that I could…that this could happen."

Bakura shrugged. "Why do you keep taking my suggestions then?" he replied. At Marik's silence, he pulled him back onto the bed, their legs tangling as they curled up together. "There's enough of a chance that it won't happen to make it worth the risk."

Marik stared up at him, an eyebrow raised. "You put too much faith in me," he muttered.

"No," Bakura said. "Just enough."


End file.
